


what's inside ▹ s. rogers

by emmasnolan



Series: leading ladies [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Adultery, Captain America: The First Avenger, Domestic Violence, F/M, Inspired by Waitress - Bareilles/Nelson, Pregnancy, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29465859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmasnolan/pseuds/emmasnolan
Summary: ❝you wanna know what's inside?i could tell you if i wasn't hidingmy whole life is in herein this kitchen, bakingwhat a mess i'm making❞- sara bareillesin which a new york waitress meets someone who makes everything change.[captain america: the first avenger][book one of the leading lady series]COPYRIGHT: i do not own any unoriginal material contained within this book, only my original characters and plot lines. all other rights go to joe johnston, sara bareilles, and marvel.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Series: leading ladies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164317
Kudos: 1





	1. introduction

**ELEANOR MILLER** wasn't exactly happy about having to waitress for a living. If it were up to her, she'd be baking pastries for restaurants like the Rainbow Room or in one of those Manhattan joints literally anywhere besides Leo's Diner in Brooklyn. It would be so much better to be behind kitchen walls and making food for a bunch of snooty rich people than to be serving people who treated her as lesser than to her face.

There were few things that made working at Leo's bearable. There was Elizabeth and Dorothy, her very best friends. Well, her only friends really. It wasn't often if ever was she allowed to go out at night to meet new people. So, seeing them for the short time she had outside the house was one of life's few gifts.

That led to her second reason she didn't despise her job: it was time away from home. Eleanor didn't exactly like her husband. As time dwindled on, so did her love for him. This isn't as bad as it sounds when one considers the fact that Douglas Miller wasn't exactly a _good_ husband, or even a good person at that. The Doug that Eleanor married years ago wasn't the same Douglas that sat in her shabby Brooklyn apartment every night with the radio playing the Yankees highlights over and over again. This one... this one scared her.

But, um, perhaps her favorite part about this low-end job was the people. Just like her, everyone who entered had a story to tell; they just didn't tell their's in the form of a pie.

Of her favorite customers was a short, lanky, skinny boy who desperately wanted to join the fight against the Axis powers. Steve Rogers his name was. And every other day, he'd come in and just... talk to Eleanor. The last time she'd just talked to a man, well, it was a long time ago. Too long for someone who'd been married for nearly five years. But maybe that's what made Steve so special.

After a drunken night spent with her husband, Eleanor discovers that she's pregnant with Doug's child. For most women her age with no children yet, this would be amazing news, but for Eleanor, it felt like the signing of her death certificate. This baby, this thing that was growing inside her, it was another thing that would keep her from that dream of being anywhere but Leo's. Anywhere but Brooklyn. Anywhere else.

And that's why Steve Rogers offered up a place in his arms for her instead, and even though it's a totally, horribly, extremely bad idea, sometimes that's just what you need.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

───── ❝ cast ❞ ─────

**rachel brosnahan**  
as **eleanor miller**  
❝ the waitress ❞  
  


 ** _additional cast_** | kacey rohl as  
elizabeth jones | lily tomlin as  
dorothy mcintre | sean maguire  
as douglas miller | william daniels  
as leo brooker | manny jacinto as  
christopher liu | sally field as  
love | _captain america_ cast as  
respective characters

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

───── ❝ playlist ❞ ─────

❝ she used to be mine ❞  
  
  


 ** _eleanor_** | what's inside, sara  
bareilles | that's life, frank  
sinatra | we'll meet again, vera  
lynn | i'm getting sentimental  
over you, tommy dorsey | in the  
mood, glenn miller | heartaches,  
ted weems | star dust, louis  
armstrong | dream a little  
dream of me, doris day | **_miller_**  
  
  


┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛


	2. overture

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

──── ❝ overture ❞ ────

❝ sugar, butter, flour ❞

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

**SUGAR, BUTTER, AND FLOUR WERE** three key ingredients for making pies. It's how they all start out. Flour and butter for the curst, which was make fresh every day, and sugar to mix into the filling. It was so routine for Eleanor Miller, second nature practically. 

Every day, before the sun rose above the city, Eleanor would arrive at Leo's Diner on the corner of Tillary Street and Brooklyn Boulevard after stopping by the 24 hour mart for some extra ingredients the diner didn't have lying around. From there, she'd start working on her pies, four of each, sometimes five if it was a weekend. Her pies always ended up selling out by the end of the day, so getting there early and making several of each was a necessity. 

Today, she felt like Trouble in Paradise Peach. She'd had a particularly bad fight with her husband the night before. She couldn't do anything then, but in this kitchen, by herself, she sure as hell could now. For at the fourth hour, that little kitchen in that little diner was her's and her's alone. Few were even awake in Brooklyn, let alone anyone who would wish to bother someone as insignificant as her.

"Trim the edges..." Eleanor mumbled to herself as she often did when baking. "Need... corn starch, cinnamon... nutmeg..."

She reached for the cinnamon from across the table, but a wave of nausea stopped her. Her hands flew to her stomach as she curled in on herself. A hiss fell from her lips as she made an attempt to quell the sudden ailment, but found that a few simple breaths wasn't going to keep the vomit down her throat.

Keeping the position, she rushed into the nearest bathroom, quickly emptying her stomach of the dinner she'd made last night, just as she had for the third day in a row. 

Eleanor was the oldest of seven. She wasn't old enough to remember what it was like when her brother was born, but she'd seen the warning signs of all five of her other siblings. She knew that this repeated throwing up in the early hours of the morning, the fatigue, the constant change of heart rate and moods.

"No, no, no," Eleanor pulled at the roots of her brown hair in frustration. "I can't be..." 

Maybe it was the smell- after all, chicken divan casserole doesn't smell quite as good the second time- or maybe it was the fact that she was beginning to realize she was pregnant, but Eleanor Miller began to sob.


	3. chapter i

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

──── ❝ chapter i ❞ ────

❝ sour cherry ❞

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

**ELEANOR, WHILE NOT WELL VERSED** in the world of acting, could really put on a facade. Despite having emptied her guts not even half a day before, she was able to recompose herself and put on that pretty, little smile everyone loved so much. Call it a blessing and a curse, either way, it helped her in this moment.

It fooled her co-worker and best friend, Elizabeth, and it fooled the cook, Ron, and it fooled the customers. Really, the customers were the most important.

One of the things about being a waitress that sometimes crawled under Eleanor's skin was the fact that the apron was almost an open invitation to conversation. Some days she enjoyed it, but others it would be evident that talking would end up making her blood pressure rise, especially when it was a conversation about either her marital status or her body. Living in such a male-dominated world made most men think that _that_ was also an open invitation.

Even so, it worked today.

Well, until Dorothy showed up for her shift.

Dorothy McIntre was an older woman. 20 plus years of working in the waitressing business left her a hardened woman. Not in the sense that she was a bitter, old woman, but in that she didn't take shit from anyone. Hell, she'd nearly risked it all after a customer _looked_ at Elizabeth the wrong way.

That being said, nothing got past her either. She was always attentive to whatever was happening around her, the customers and the diner alike. Eleanor and Elizabeth were no different. Several years spent working together in this tiny diner in Brooklyn will do that.

"Afternoon, Dottie." Eleanor falsely gleamed when Dorothy walked through the door.

"Afternoon, Nellie," Dorothy repeated back with her gruff voice. "Those trains are getting more crowded everyday. I was flattened so far against that wall I might as well be an iron."

"That's New York for you, Dot."

"Yeah well, you'd think with the war and the draft and what not, there'd be _less_ people."

Eleanor scoffed, "Half the planet could be gone and I'd still be number 423 in the deli down on Washington."

This seemed to raise Dorothy's spirits a little bit as she stripped of her jacket and put on her beige-colored apron. If there was one thing Dorothy loved to joke about, it was the very city that she loved and hated so much. Maybe it was just the thing to 

"Alright," Dorothy spoke. She leaned against the bar and stared dead into Eleanor's eyes. "Now that the obligatory small talk is over, what's wrong?"

Eleanor playfully scoffed, "What are you talking about?"

"Nellie, we've been working together for about four years now. I know when you're faking a smile. Is it Doug again?"

Eleanor debated what would be best to let Dorothy in on, but under the pressure and Dorothy's hardened gaze, she cracked almost instantly. "I think I'm pregnant."

She saw the flicker in Dorothy's eyes. Both Dot and Elizabeth knew that Doug wasn't a good man let alone a good husband. Eleanor was sure that a million questions were running through the woman's head and it was unfortunate that she couldn't give an answer to any one of them. Not one that would receive any of Dorothy's stress at the very least.

"Y-You think you're...?" Dorothy couldn't even get out the rest of the words. "Have you gone to the doctor yet?"

"No, no I'm just-" Eleanor heard the front door bell ring. She saw two men walk in, and knew that this was a perfect way to escape the conversation for now. "Look, I'll talk to you about this soon, alright? But I just... later."

Eleanor was usually a much more chipper person when she tended to customers. The talk with Dorothy made her nervous, and when Eleanor got nervous, she felt sick. Having already thrown up earlier in the day, she'd gotten rid of all the contents in her stomach. She loathed to think of what would come up if she vomited again.

"Welcome to Leo's, what can I get for you?" Eleanor asked the customers at the bar table without looking from her notepad.

"Well, that any way to treat your favorite customer?" The voice was familiar, a warm kind of familiar that brought a little smile to Eleanor's face.

"James," Eleanor sighed.

James Buchanan Barnes was a regular at Leo's, and he wasn't kidding around when he said he was Eleanor's favorite customer. He was always so kind, so polite. Never did anything that would make the women who worked there uncomfortable, not to mention he was a complete charmer. Poor Elizabeth was always sweating in the back of the kitchen like a sinner in church after talking to him.

"Sorry, I've been a little out of it today."

"No worries, Nell," James smiled. "Now, what pies have you got today?"

Eleanor was about to tell him about the Paradise Peach pie she'd made earlier in the day when she finally realized another figure was sitting on the stool next to James's. He was pretty funny-looking, if Eleanor was being honest. His head was big against his his shoulders, and somehow his ears were bigger than his head. Even in a raised stool he was short, especially in comparison tot he giant that was James Barnes. He was skinny too, skinnier than most the men Eleanor had seen come and go. But the features that most wouldn't find desirable were overshadowed by the sweep of his sandy blonde hair and the warmth in his blue eyes. Those eyes stood out against the paleness of his skin and the sunken features of his face. 

"Uh, you're not hearing about what pies I have until you introduce me to your friend here." 

"Always playing around with me, Nell," James flashed Eleanor that positively wicked grin. "This is my best friend, Steve Rogers."

"Oh!" Eleanor gasped. "You're Steve! I've heard so much about you!"

In the several times James visited Leo's, he'd tell Eleanor all about his best friend, Steve. He'd mentioned quite a few times that Steve so desperately wanted to be drafted, but his height and weight kept him from being picked. When he'd said that, Eleanor didn't think he'd meant it as drastically as he always put it.

"U-Um, good things, I, um, hope." Steve stammered.

"Only the best. It's really nice to finally meet you, Steve." Eleanor smiled at him, extending her arm over the bar to shake his own.

Steve sort of stared at Eleanor for a second too long before finally getting the memo. His cheeked flared with red once he finally realized that there was a pale hand in front of his face. "Sorry, nice to meet you-you t-too ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Eleanor giggled. "Feel like an old broad."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

The more Eleanor progressed into the situation, the more she realized why James was also always trying to set Steve up with women. In terms of romantic appeal, he was a complete opposite to his best friend.

"No, no, don't apologize! There aren't a lot of polite men 'round here these days," Eleanor's eyes shifted to James for a moment, then back to Steve. There was a joking tilt to her voice. "Take your choice of best friend for example."

"You wound me, Nell, you wound me." James groaned in fake-hurt.

"Good," Eleanor grinned. "Now, do you need a couple of minutes with the menus?"

"Not me, I'll have a slice of that peach pie." James answered.

"I'll have the, um, same." Steve said.

As Eleanor was turning around to get the pie slices for the two men, she heard Bucky excuse himself to go "take a leak" before they ate. She knew that when she went back to face them, she'd only find one man. Still, when she saw the shorter man sitting there, stiff as a freshly pressed Sunday shirt. The flit of his eyes a he tried to avoid eye contact was cute in a strange little way.

She set it gently in front of him. She walked away slightly, but not far enough where he was out of her eyesight. This part, it was her absolute favorite.

The first forkful was essential. Many of Eleanor's patrons would say that with her pies, it would only take a taste. Take a taste for what? Well, she wasn't exactly sure. Maybe it was different for everyone. Perhaps for some it was a treat for after a long day of work, for others it might've been a doorway to a memory. And for a few, what Eleanor could say with definite confirmation, it was a momentary escape. All she really knew was that upon the first bite one took, something was different.

Steve Rogers took a tentatively bite. The shoulders that were nearly raised up to his ears suddenly slumped. His face that was once tight with flushed cheeks and unspoken nervousness relaxed. A small smile And there it was. There was the first taste.

"This pie..." Steve seemed to stop a moment to savor the taste. "It's amazing, wow!"

Eleanor heard the compliments about her pies a lot, yet it didn't stop the swell of appreciation from rising in her chest every time she saw someone's eyes light up after taking a bite. A few people even once said that an Eleanor Miller pie can brighten a rainy day. It was a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but the sentiment still made her happy.

"Thank you," Eleanor sheepishly beamed. "I bake 'em fresh everyday."

" _Every_ single day?" Steve questioned, eyes wide.

"Mhm," Eleanor hummed while stowing away the pie server. "Best way to make 'em. Sometimes, I'll stay here til-"

"Nell Bell!"

It was a cliche, but a sudden chill climbed up her back. It was slow at first, like the kind of slow you get when you feel something crawling on your arm. Then, when you finally realize that there's a spider making its way across your skin, you feel the adrenaline rush through your system, leaving you cold and filled with shivers you want to stop.

His voice, raspy in clarity and gruff by masculine nature and years of screaming, was enough to incapacitate Eleanor for a few moments. He let out another, "Nell Bell!" and the volume was enough to force the woman to swivel around to finally meet his gaze.

"Doug!" Eleanor gasped. "W-What are you doing here?"

Douglas never visited Eleanor at work. Never. It was one of the few things that made working full-time enjoyable. Him being there was like waking up from a very vivid but very good dream, the kind of dream where you can escape the real world. But this _was_ the real world, and this was no dream.

"Took the rest of the day off," He answered plainly. "Boss was pissing me off."

"O-Oh."

"So?"

"So what?"

"So, where'd my kiss at? I gotta reach across the counter for you, baby?"

Public affection wasn't as easy for Eleanor as it used to be. If Doug kissed her while they were among friends back south, she'd smile into it and wrap her arms around him. The thought of kissing here in the greasy diner with all its patrons stirred something inside her stomach. And no, it wasn't the growing baby sitting in her womb.

"I-" Eleanor's mouth bobbed open like a fish's would. "I- well, uh- Doug, I got customers- a-and I gotta g-get back to work!"

"Well, they ain't your husband, are they?"

Sensing the edge to his voice, Eleanor knew that it was better to give in than to let a fight break out for all these people to witness. She stepped out from behind the counter and kissed him on the cheek. It seemed to make his shoulders relax a bit; a win in Eleanor's mind.

"You got any pie left?"

"Yeah, I'll, um, I'll go get you a slice."

Dorothy was standing in front of the kitchen window. She was pretending to organize cups so she could eavesdrop, a tactic she often used to listen in on customer's conversations for her own entertainment. It did get quite boring being a waitress after all.

"You alright, Nell?" She asked quietly as to not alert Doug to their conversation.

"I'm fine, I'll get him his pie and he'll leave..."

"He'd better, I don't feel like going to jail for castration today."

Jokes like that would usually get a smile out of Eleanor, but because it was Doug, and because Doug was here, she just felt off. She felt like if he heard Dorothy say something like that, he'd tell her she had to quit her job and stay at home. That in itself scared her more than anything.

"Please, Dorothy..."

Eleanor Miller wasn't loud and outspoken. She wasn't a woman who raised her voice above a quiet shout. But if there was one thing that Eleanor didn't ever do, until now that is, it was beg. That's why Dorothy backed off from the situation the moment the gentle squeak escaped Eleanor's trembling lips. She swiftly retreated to the kitchen.

With another fake smile on her refined face, Eleanor sliced away at the pie, setting it flawlessly on a freshly-cleaned plate, and handed it off to her husband. She turned back around to give him a fork before she heard him grumble behind her.

"Is this peach?"

_Shit_. Doug hates peach. "Y-Yes?"

"You know I hate peach."

Whenever Eleanor did wrong by Doug, it was as if she was walking through a minefield like the men fighting overseas in Europe. If she didn't move forward with the utmost caution, an explosion would rip through the air, taking everyone in its path.

"I have this awful day and here you go putting shit in front of me that I don't even-"

"I'm sorry, Doug, it's the only kind we have-" Halfway through speaking, she had realized her mistake. By now, though, it was too late to take anything back.

"Did you just _interrupt_ me?"

* * *

"My Husband Scares Me" Sour Cherry Pie

1\. Drown out the noise by adding sugar, butter, flour, and salt in a blender.

2\. Ease the tension from your shoulders by whisking egg yolks and ice water in a bowl

3\. Punch the pie crust dough to hide the things you wish you could punch instead

4\. Toss together filling ingredients and swiftly pour into the bottom crust to ease any queries about when he can finally fucking eat

5\. Cut holes into the top crust so no air gets trapped like you are

* * *

"I-I... I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be."

"And you shouldn't talk to a lady that way."

In the mess of it all, Eleanor had forgotten that Steve was sitting not even ten feet away for a moment. She stared at him with widened eyes that were filled to the brim with fear. Not fear for her, but for him. Doug didn't talk with words when spoken to in a challenging way. His fists were the only thing that spoke for him. She frantically shook her head.

Steve saw this motion, but chose to ignore it. He held a stern gaze towards Doug. It was clear that Doug didn't really like this.

"Are you talking to me, _boy_?"

"Yes, sir. I am."

The way Steve was staring down Doug made Eleanor think the stuttering, blushing man who had been sitting in that exact spot not even ten minutes ago was a completely different person. Did his identical twin somehow swap places with him in the time between she last spoke with him and now?

"And just who are you exactly?"

"Steve Rogers."

"Well, Rogers," Doug slowly moved from the bar stool. "You best mind your business."

Steve mirrored Doug's movements. They were less crude, more hesitant but not hesitant enough where he looked like he'd tap out. That tiny, little man was screwed.

"D-Doug-"

"I can't mind my own business when you're talking to a lady as if she's scum."

"That's my wife!"

"Who is still a lady!"

"Hey!" A booming voice echoed from the back of the restaurant. Ron, red in the face and with a cheek of sweat on his upper brow from the stove, was giving both Steve and Doug dirty looks. He lifted his spatula and pointed between the two of them. "Whatever shit you two have goin' on, take it outside!"

Eleanor felt dizzy as she saw Doug grab Steve by the collar with little to no hesitation. She felt an arm around her but flinched away from the sudden touch. In her conscious, she knew that it was probably just Dot, but her subconscious was shielding her from all that scared her. Really, the world, in all its expansive glory, downright terrified her.

The senses begin to numb. She can hear the sounds around her. Confused, frantic, distressed voices that were shocked with fervor. The world's images blur into one another like splashing water onto a child's sidewalk chalk. She was still standing, just as she would for another 50 years if she was one of the lucky ones, but the feeling of her legs had stopped registering long ago. This sensation, or loss of to be exact, occurred every time he yelled.

Drown out the noise to ease the tension. 

Drown out the noise to ease the pain.

Drown out the screams to shield your heart. The heart you once gave to him.

Her escape from the real world hadn't lasted very long. When the bell to the front door dinged, her mind which had been elsewhere was dragged kicking and screaming back to reality. 

James had returned from the washroom just as Doug had left. He ran out for his best friend. His face was stone cold while also having an air of what Eleanor could only describe as exhaustion. This wasn't going to end well, Eleanor was sure of it.

She predicted that the fight between her husband and James would last approximately a minute before the latter would turn out victorious. She wouldn't ever vocalize this to anyone, of course. She knew how Doug worked, though, and how his ego manifested in things that he... Well, it didn't exactly matter now did it?

Through the window, Eleanor watched Doug's retreating figure scurry towards the direction of home. Even a man as durable as Doug was no match against a man as obstinate as James. His fist might as well have been made of iron. That's how _he_ described it at least. No doubt she'd have to dress his wounds while hearing about the bastards that dare talk about him in any way other than perfect.

When he was just out of her sight, she slipped out of the diner and towards the alleyway nearby that she had seen her husband scamper out of.

The brisk New York air silently told her to return back to the diner to preserve her warmth and her feelings, but much like the city itself, Eleanor was rather defiant where warnings were given. She weaved through the common city sidewalk traffic with experienced ease. She had _little_ experience watching the scene unfold in front of her.

Steve was on the ground, blood dripping from his nostrils, leaving trails of red across his lips and to his chin. The parts of his face that weren't splotched with blood were scuffed with dirt and grime that accumulated in New York alleys. Besides these two things and his general dishevelment, Eleanor couldn't see any visible signs of broken bones or other severe injuries that Doug could be held accountable. It seemed that James had gotten there just in time. 

"A-Are you alright?" Eleanor stammered.

"Nothing... Nothing I haven't dealt with before," Steve panted.

"Nothing he hasn't dealt with and I haven't had to clean up." James grumbled beneath his breath.

"Still, you really didn't have to do that."

"No man should ever," Steve took a moment to let out a groan as James helped him stand. "Talk to a woman that way. O-Or anyone... um, really."

"He's just lucky I don't do worse than what I did." James muttered to himself yet again. Eleanor could tell that this situation pissed him off to a T.

Eleanor's eyes flicked around the alleyway. She spotted a bit of red on the cement which had been the same shade as the blood dribbling down Steve's nose. An immense feeling of guilt rose up in her stomach. It was rather stupid of her to give Doug peach pie, of all flavors. Had she been less careless, a man wouldn't be groaning to himself in silent pain.

"Still..." Eleanor bemoaned, her eyes still focused on the blood splatter. She inhaled the sharp autumn air as she forced herself to look back up at the two men. "Is there anything I can do? There's a few bandages and things in the back of the kitchen, I can get some for you. Maybe an ice pack?"

"I'll be okay, ma'am-"

"Please," Eleanor gave a weak half-smile to Steve. "You can call me Eleanor."

Steve nodded. "Eleanor."

"If I can't give you anything to help right now," Eleanor tapped her bottom lip. "Could I make you a pie? A personal one?"

"There's no-"

"I insist."

Steve's cheeks flared up with rogue. Eleanor could tell that Steve was a man of honor, that he didn't want his actions to have a reward. That he simply just wished to do good for the sake of being good. She knew that before they'd even met from what James had told her about him. He hadn't met Eleanor, though, and seen her stubbornness firsthand.

"Do you know how to make apple?"

Eleanor let out a playful scoff, "'Do I know how to make apple?' I'll do you one better: how's caramel apple sound?"

Steve seemed to think for a moment. Eventually, with Eleanor's unceasing stare, he gave in. "That... That sounds perfect."

"You know, Nell, I helped too!" James spoke up.

"Oh, hush you. I already know you'll take any pie I put in front of you." Eleanor grinned genuinely or what seemed like the first time since her wedding day. "Fix yourself up, Steve. Next time I see you, I hope you look better than you do right now. And thank you." _Should've led with that_.

"N-Next time."

"Next time. " Eleanor confirmed.

Eleanor Miller watched as Steve leaned on James as he walked to stay upright. The people who were passing them by gave odd glares, their minds moving to other thoughts about the two men. Eleanor, though, had no such contempt. Her smile as she watched them move along the crowded city street. The man who didn't seem capable, whether by physicality or emotion, to even raise his fists had done what Eleanor never thought the world would grant her: someone to stick up for her.


	4. chapter ii

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

──── ❝ chapter ii ❞ ────

❝ mystery ❞

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

**E** **LEANOR SPENT THE REST OF** her shift in the kitchen. Usually Ron would give her grief for it, but after everything she'd gone through today, he gave her a free pass this once.

Tucked away in the back of the kitchen, behind the industrial sized refrigerators and rows of ingredients and supplies, Eleanor solemnly pressed her heels into pie dough. No doubt she'd already overworked it and it was practically unusable at this point, but there was something comforting in the actions. She understood why cats did the motion so often now.

The waitress wasn't thinking about anything in particular while she kneaded the dough. She focused on the dull buzz coming from the front of the restaurant. All the voices and clatter of silverware and the normal city rumble blended together like white noise.

Eleanor had been so tuned into the lack of sound that when there door squeaked open, she might as well have jumped and hit the ceiling. It had only been Dorothy and Elizabeth, not that she should've expected anyone different.

"I leave for twenty minutes to get lunch and your husband gets into a brawl out back?" Elizabeth whispered as if anyone else would listen in on their conversation.

Eleanor didn't glance up from her dough. She quirked an eyebrow, mumbling to Dorothy, "You told her?"

"I didn't have to," Dorothy scoffed. "Mr. Dorsey is out there and you know he has a voice like a megaphone. Don't worry, hun, I didn't tell her about the other-"

Dorothy stopped herself just as the words were coming out of her mouth. Both she and Eleanor knew that Elizabeth Jones was an absolute blabber mouth. Not intentionally, of course, but if she knew that Eleanor was pregnant, so would the entirety of Manhattan and Brooklyn. In addition to her inability to keep a secret, she also had a horrible fear of not being in the know.

"Tell me about what?" Elizabeth questioned. She gazed expectedly between Eleanor and Dorothy but neither lifted their head to meet her eyes. She slapped her hand against her thighs playfully but still with an edge. "Girls, tell me _what_?"

Eleanor was aware of the fact that Elizabeth wouldn't leave her alone if she didn't say anything. She silently weighed her options. Which was worse? People believing that some random waitress in Brooklyn _might_ be pregnant? Or having to hear Elizabeth's incessant queries about what was being kept from her?

"Well?"

Might as well bite the bullet... which probably was too accurate a metaphor considering the war.

"I think I'm pregnant."

" _What?!_ " Elizabeth squealed. "But wait, I thought you didn't do it with Doug anymore!"

"I don't," Eleanor grumbled. "He got me drunk, I do stupid things when I'm drunk."

"Have you been to the doctor?"

"No, I just figured it out this morning."

"Did you tell Doug?"

"Of course I didn't."

"Have you missed your period?"

"No," Eleanor pushed the heels of her hand farther into the dough. "It only happened two weeks ago, but I was in my fertile window for sure."

"If you haven't-"

"I just know!" Her exclamation was emphasized with the slamming of her hands against the table's surface. A silence stretched between the three women, one that Eleanor wanted to get out of quickly. "I just... I know. Mama six kids after me, five that I can remember. They always started the same."

Dorothy and Elizabeth weren't mothers-neither was Eleanor but she considered taking care of her siblings when Mama was out working at the textile mill a pretty good start- so neither knew about the signs like Eleanor did. On that same vein, Dorothy was a widow to a loving husband who passed during the Great War and Elizabeth didn't have anyone in her love life so they didn't know the martial struggles that came with this parasite inside of her either.

"Well," Dorothy rubbed her hand against Eleanor's arm. "You still need to get it confirmed. Just so you know what you're getting into these next few months."

"Unless..."

The word that left Elizabeth's lips hung in the air like a bad smell. Eleanor knew what she was talking about. It wasn't lost on her that business cards were exchanged between desperate women, not unlike herself, with addresses that led to the private homes of former medical practitioners. It also wasn't lost on her that the process was illegal... or that there was a possibility she'd become a statistic if it went wrong.

"Ladies!" Ron shouted from the doorway, his forehead glistening with sweat from the near-evening rush. "This ain't a powder room! I need some help out here!"

Elizabeth nodded towards Eleanor and Dorothy, "I'll get this." 

The mousy-haired woman scurried out of the kitchen, leaving the older two alone. 

Eleanor still hadn't looked up from her pie dough. She couldn't. Everything felt so wrong right now. There was this book Eleanor read once where a little girl was venturing a world of smiling cats and talking playing cards and caterpillars who smoked from a hookah. The little girl was confused, of course, and that's precisely how Eleanor felt now sans the personified objects.

"Do you think maybe...?" Do you think maybe you'll have an abortion?

Eleanor pursed her lips. "I don't know."

She truly didn't. This situation felt like an impossible one to be in. Say she did get an abortion somewhere. If she even managed to live and someone found out, she'd be thrown in jail. Who knows what Doug would do if he ever found out... But what if she kept it? What if it was a boy? She couldn't handle having another Doug in her miserable life. What if it was a girl? That poor baby... She'd be damning another being to a life filled with hate and spite and hurt. 

"Well, listen. I know a great clinic that does walk-in appointments," Dorothy offered, her voice soft and kind. This was an oddity to Eleanor, but she just listened. "We can go tomorrow during our lunch break, if you'd like."

Eleanor hummed in response. It seemed like a good idea. Just to make sure that there was actually something in her instead of letting herself fret over hypotheticals at the moment.

"Dot, I'm so sorry, I really need your help right now," Elizabeth looked more mess than Ron had, and she had only been out there for a few minutes. "Mrs. Paisley had a family reunion and there's at least twenty people out-"

"I got you, Liz! Just give me one more minute here, okay?"

Elizabeth quickly nodded her head before heading back out. Dorothy premed her apron, but not without asking Eleanor, "Are you sure you're okay?" before leaving.

"'M fine."

And just like that, she was alone again. Just a woman and her pie dough.

Moments like this were where she missed her mother most. Whenever Eleanor would come home upset or something frustrated her, her mother would pull up a recipe from one of her favorite books. They never followed it, though, taking twists and "creative liberties" which was just a way to say they made a mess.

Pa would get stern with them for it, but he never stayed mad for long, not when his oldest looked so happy with flour and melted chocolate covering her arms. It was mostly because he'd also get a chocolate-covered kiss from his wife shortly afterward which was never a bad thing.

"Now, Eleanor," Mama would whisper while she folded in ingredients. "Whenever things get hard, you can pour everything into a pie."

At the ripe age of nine, Eleanor thought "everything" just meant ingredients. As years passed, after she buried her Mama and her youngest brother after a deadly outbreak of tuberculosis in their town, she began to realize the true meaning to her mother's words.

What would Mama say if she knew about all this?

Well, for one thing, Eleanor was fairly sure she wouldn't even be in this predicament if she Mama was here. She was an amazing judge of character with instincts that could rival that of a lion! She probably would've objected to the marriage before it even started. Might've run Doug out of her damn house like she did with the raccoon that scampered in through the dog door one summer night.

Who _would_ Mama approve of?

Probably someone like one of the boys who'd bring around the newspaper. She'd always like this one boy who'd stop by our house just to say a greeting after handing the daily paper to her Mama. He'd always stuck around a bit longer when Eleanor was out with her mother, though. Her siblings would tease her, saying that he had a crush on her. Maybe if he hadn't moved to California, she'd be married to him.

Was she still here?

Sometimes Eleanor felt like she still saw her. Not like a ghost like in the novels she'd read, but in the faces of people she'd pass on the street. And if she didn't see her, she felt her. Every day, with every pie made, Eleanor felt her mother's hands guiding her through the recipes she'd learned by heart.

Why did life seem like an endless array of questions without her?

* * *

"Life Without Mama Is A" Mystery Pie

1\. Beat the egg whites and baking soda until stiff. Blend in sugar and vanilla... she always smelled of vanilla. Got the extract on her hands a lot.

2\. Fold in crushed Ritz crackers and nuts. Do you remember folding the laundry with her? How you'd get lost in the rows of towels drying in the sunlight of the backyard? How'd you'd follow her laughter to find your way back?

3\. Bake for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Top with the whipped cream you'd make fresh from the milk you both would get together at your favorite farmer's market.

4\. Miss her.

* * *

Returning to her tiny Brooklyn apartment was never a joyride. Doug and Eleanor Miller didn't live in the best part of town, but it was what they could afford with their salaries. Still, because it wasn't the best of town, it meant everything stunk of city garbage and walking down an alleyway after a certain hour was sure to get you shot.

The apartment itself wasn't very wonderful either. It was small as one would assume with an ugly green wallpaper covering the surface of every room. Eleanor desperately wished to change it, but her landlord would have her head before any of the walls were changed. The room with a door was the bathroom; every other room in a house merged into one big space which acting as the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. The cramps space made Eleanor feel queasy but she had to make do with what she had.

When she entered said ugly apartment, she found Doug sitting on the couch, his feet up and a bag of frozen peas resting on his eyes. From the look of the lack of frost and abundance of condensation, those peas were no longer frozen and probably needed to be thrown away now.

"Great." Eleanor grumbled. Yet another thing she'd probably have to hear of soon enough.

Thankfully for Eleanor, she realized that Doug was sleeping and didn't hear her bitter remark.

She did her daily tasks upon walking in that Doug never would. Check the mail, put away the coats, make sure the electric heater wasn't too hot to keep the frigid December cold at bay, and see what food was available in their ice box to determine what they could have for dinner tonight. It was so routine at this point.

Eleanor inched toward the side of the couch. She gently lifted the bag of peas from Doug's face and saw the damage James had done. One of Doug's eyes was swollen, a ring of purple edging a shade of black encompassed the entirety of the left one. His nose was angled strange, nearly bordering on a total 90 degree. There were several cuts along his cheeks and on his knuckles. The cuts on the latter were from hurting Steve, Eleanor presumed. She once again felt her stomach start to churn. 

"Ah, he got you good, didn't he?" Eleanor mumbled to herself.

"No need to rub it in, Nell." 

Eleanor gulped a little when she saw that Doug was awake. She watched silently as he lifted himself up sleepily. He groaned. The pain was probably still pretty bad, even several hours later. Eleanor had never been punched before, but she imagined that it wasn't much of a pleasant experience.

"Hi, darling," Eleanor sheepishly smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell."

"Do you need me to go out and get something for the pain?" Eleanor asked. Really, she was looking for an excuse to leave the house for a few extra minutes. "The drugstore on Lawrence is still open, I could probably-"

"I'm good," Doug protested. "What you can do is make sure that twig bastard never goes near you again."

She doubted she even needed to do anything to keep Steve or James away. This was usually how it went. Eleanor would make a new friend, and before she even got to know them, it would end the same way: Doug would find a way to run them off. If not by harming them with his hands, his words would do just the trick.

"Doug," Eleanor tried to think of the best choice of words. She'd learned that not preparing her next sentences could lead to ruin. "I can't exactly, um, control who comes in the diner."

"Yeah? Well, you can control who you talk to for damn sure." Doug asserted.

Control. An interesting word choice on Doug's part. 

Control was exactly what Eleanor didn't have. It was why they didn't have a car. Not that they couldn't afford it, but because he didn't want her going anywhere. It was why she didn't have any friends or even contact with her siblings. Steve and James were just another thing out of Eleanor's control.

"Doug, I-"

"I mean it, Nell. I mean, next thing you'll know, kid like that'll be making moves on my girl," Doug's voice started to raise. Eleanor's muscles tensed. "Don't want anyone else lovin' you. Don't want you lovin' anyone else, neither. You got it?"

Despite herself, Eleanor solemnly nodded.

"Turn the radio on for me." A command, not a request.

Eleanor flicked the button, static instantly filled the empty space in their living room. A few twists to other nobs and the static was replaced with Frank Sinatra's "That's Life." 

"I hate this song." 

_Yes, you would hate this song wouldn't you?_ Eleanor thought.

A song about triumphing in life, regardless of the people who spit on your dreams and shit that the world throws at you time and time again. But even in the end, despite all the up's, the down's, sometimes the idea of quitting, ending it all, is the best comfort of all.


	5. chapter iii

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

──── ❝ chapter iii ❞ ────

❝ five-fruit ❞

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

**"OKAY, MRS. MILLER! YOU'RE ALL** set! We'll call with your results in the next few days!" The nurse at the front of the clinic explained to Eleanor.

"Right, sounds good. Thank you so much."

Just as Dorothy had promised, during their lunch break, the two women went off to the walk-in clinic. It was a quaint little place that thankfully wasn't too crowded either. Seemed like not a lot of people went there which left Eleanor better off.

The visit wasn't too long and very underwhelming when Eleanor looked back on it. The doctor initially tried to sway Eleanor into believing she may not have been pregnant. After all, it was very early to determine whether or not she was. When she insisted that she was and wanted to merely confirm what she already knew, he caved and ordered a test.

The test was always a rather strange thing to Eleanor. She'd give the doctor a urine sample- a very messy one at that. Who in the world with a vagina would be able to pee in such a tiny cup?- and after that, they would send it off to a lab. In said lab, the urine would be injected into a frog or something. If the frog laid eggs within 24 hours, the woman the urine belonged to was indeed pregnant.

* * *

"Froggy Eggs" Five-Fruit Pie

1\. In a cup much too small for the incoming stream, pour in a filling consisting of raspberries, blueberries, black berries, strawberries, and apples

2\. Because the cup is too small, things get sticky- quite literally- so there's a separate step so you can remember to thoroughly wash your hands

3\. Bake at 375 degrees until filling is bubbling

4\. Serve while still warm... you know what? Maybe don't

* * *

"And you gave them the diner's number, right?" Dorothy questioned Eleanor.

"Of course I did," Eleanor grumbled beneath her breath so that no one nearby would hear. Not that anyone particularly cared, but it gave her some form of comfort to know nobody would hear them. "Last thing I want is Doug pickin' up the phone to find out if I do or don't have a baby growing in me. Now, go on. You have an eye appointment to get to."

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay to get back to work?" Dorothy asked.

"I'll be fine," Eleanor waved her off. "I may be pregnant but I'm not a yuck. Besides, I've lived in this city for a long while now. Know how to make my way around."

"If you say so, darlin', " Dorothy shrugged. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow." Eleanor repeated.

She watched silently as the older woman made her way down the street and towards the subway station. Oh, how she wished that she could go anywhere else but work right now. Maybe a book shop or a visit to a restaurant where she could forget about the wait for her test results.

There was a bus station not far from the clinic. In truth, she could've walked and made it back with a few minutes to spare, but at the rare sight of an empty bus station bench, Eleanor figured she could use a minute of peaceful quiet. She shuffled over, releasing a shallow breath when she was finally able to sit.

"Eleanor?" Perhaps not.

Eleanor glanced up, suddenly stirred from the memories she'd been filing through in her head. She saw Steve, face worse than what she remembered it to be. Most of the cuts and scratches were scabbed over, but the bruises were darker with age. Her stomach churned at the sight of the ailments, as she knew that, to some degree, she was the reason they were littering his pale skin.

"Oh, my God, Steve!" Eleanor exclaimed. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, you know. Um, I'm still a little- I'm better," Steve lied through his teeth. Eleanor wasn't going to push on it, though. She already felt bad. "Mind if I sit?"

"Oh no, not at all!" Eleanor waved her hand passively. "So, what are you doing around this part of town?"

"Oh," Steve's face got a bit red. "There's an enlistment site down the street."

"Didn't take?" Eleanor asked. She wasn't truly thinking when she did, so when she saw Steve's face flush further, she felt the pang of guilt hit her chest. "S-Sorry... didn't mean it like that."

"It's okay... What about you?"

"Oh, you know!" Eleanor suddenly perked up. She'd hoped Steve wouldn't see past the fake smile. She really didn't want to get into the whole spiel about frog eggs and pregnancies right now. She couldn't very well tell Steve that she was pregnant. Well, she could, but she preferred not to. She already felt off with the knowledge that Elizabeth knew of her growing problem. The less people who knew, the better. "Just out on my lunch break."

"You came all the way to the Kensington for lunch?"

Eleanor hadn't thought about that. She should've thought it odd that one would travel all the way across Brooklyn just for a lunch break. "Yes."

Steve didn't really reply back. Eleanor didn't have to wonder why; her response was obviously a lie, and Steve didn't wanna push it. Whether he was too embarrassed to ask or too gentlemanly, Eleanor didn't quite know, but she was thankful that he decided to drop it.

In the few moments they didn't speak, Eleanor analyzed the injuries he'd sustained. She couldn't help but imagine what it might've been like. She ailed at the idea of her husband hurting anyone, let alone someone who was half Doug's body mass and height. At the same time, though, she didn't feel pity, but also... joyful?

The memory of how good it felt to have someone stick their neck out for her appeared in her mind. It only happened just yesterday, but it's easy to forget the good things when you're life is constantly filled with baby like a baby and a shit husband-

_What you can do is make sure that twig bastard never goes near you again.  
_

The words echoed in her head. Realistically, she knew that Doug wouldn't be anywhere near here. Still, she felt the weight of him everywhere she went. It didn't matter if he was a million miles away; she could still feel the stare, the hands around her shoulders that were meant to be comforting but did anything but comfort her.

"I'm real sorry about my husband," Eleanor sighed. "He wasn't always like this... he's just... Going through a rough patch is all." It was a bit of a long rough patch- one that practically lasted the entirety of their marriage- but Steve didn't need to know any of that.

"It's okay," Steve mumbled. "Really... When I said it wasn't anything I hadn't already been through- And you know, you r-really don't have to, you know, make me-me that pie."

"No, I um-" _You got it?_ "I still want to. Gives me an excuse to make some new pie recipes!"

An awkward stretch of quiet, abnormal for New York but normal for one of the two. Eleanor tapped at her bag straps while using her free hand to pick at the skin of her lip. Unsanitary? Yes, but it was hard to break nervous habits. Besides, it wasn't like she has putting her lips to _good_ use anymore.

She was contented to leave the conversation at that until the bus arrived, but Steve didn't seem to be quite alright with the silence between them.

"You know, you just... sitting here... in your uniform, you remind me of this woman I used to know. She's probably in her 50's by now..." Steve's voice trailed off.

Eleanor raised a brow, "Um, thank you?"

Steve's head swung to meet Eleanor's playful yet pointed gaze. "Huh? Oh God, no no! I'm so sorry-!" Steve's plight went silenced by Eleanor's laughter. The sound alone made Steve's cheeks flare up with rogue. "I just, um- I just meant that she used to be a baker too... She made the best lemon cakes and pastries in the whole city! W-Well, before, um, before you."

"Aww," Eleanor glanced down at her hands. "Thank you, Steve. But I'm no baker. Just a waitress."

"Why can't you be both?"

A lot of reasons, actually. None that she could say to Steve, though. For starters, a baker would imply that she didn't have to wait on them, cater to them, or even have to talk to them. It would also mean that she might get a bit of a higher pay than the shit check she got at the end of every week and the pitiful tips she earned. Maybe one day, but the thought that her life could be any different than what it was now filled her chest with doubt.

When Eleanor didn't reply, Steve continued on. More than likely it was out of embarrassment and he was unable to keep the words down his throat, but he persisted regardless. "She told me a lot about baking! N-Not like, how to but um... the feeling that comes with it, I guess?"

This piqued Eleanor's interest. "How so?"

"Mmm..." Steve hummed in thought. "She said it was like telling a story. That it would only take a taste to be able to read it all..."

Her mama used to say something like that. Not really about the fact that it was like telling a story because stories were meant for the pages of books, not pie filling. But that you could put your entire life into a pie only for the most experienced to understand it.

"My mama said things like that. She always got so metaphorical with her baking! Took me years to find out what she meant with some of them." Eleanor grinned at the memory of pondering her mother's words when all she had done was flour a table.

"Did you get your baking skills from her?"

"Mhm," Eleanor hummed. "We'd make new recipes together, she'd let me name them, and we'd go 'round to our neighbors and ask if they wanted any. They always did."

"I can tell why. Your pies, the one I had- um, at least- it was the best thing I'd ever tasted before. It was like... biblically good."

"Gosh, what a thing to say..."

Upon hearing Eleanor's solemn tone, Steve seemed to get worried he'd messed up. "I-I'm sorry! I meant it as a compliment!"

"I know," Eleanor bit at her lip. "That's why it made me uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry," Steve repeated.

"Don't be," Eleanor shook her head. "It's... _nice_. Uncomfortable, but nice."

From the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw an object coming her way. She noticed the bus rounding the corner and rose from her place on the bench. Her conversation companion, however, remained seated.

"Aren't you going to get on too?" Eleanor asked.

When Steve shook his head almost embarrassedly, she realized. Eleanor, for what felt like the first time in years, smiled genuinely. It wasn't spurred on by a memory or a quick joke that would fade from her memory over time, but a real smile that would falter over the day, but would never disappear.


End file.
